


The Third Row

by IsaiahVirus



Category: John Mayer (Musician)
Genre: Masturbation, i just need some john trash, who fucking knows my dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:21:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsaiahVirus/pseuds/IsaiahVirus
Summary: Did you know John Mayer's dick only reaches the third row?-some Deadhead I met in Phoenix





	The Third Row

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I've become fucking trash for this sleaze of a person that's also kind of wholesome??

John was bouncing around the stage in that eccentric way that doesn't quite look like it's in time with the drummers but keeps him from ever missing a note. He was feeling himself. As usual. He was feeling himself so hard he was starting to sport a semi. Luckily he has a guitar that goes right in front of his crotch that hides his, not really a problem, problem.  
  
The crowd was so stoned they wouldn't notice nor mind. And most people were so far away they wouldn't be able to tell and the cameras weren't on him very often and when they were they focused on his fretting hand or his head when he sang.  
  
By the time the set break was coming up John was feeling truly relieved. His boner was beginning to distract him. The first finale blew out and when the noise and lights calmed down, he didn't take his guitar off and put it in the stand that was on stage. He wore it backstage.  
  
He declined any offers from stage hands to take it from him. He wore it back to his dressing room while Mickey and Bob went to get food and the others went to take a whizz. He had a little under 30 minutes to take care of his needs.  
  
When he was finally alone he disentangled himself from the wires and earplugs, kicked off his white Nike's, then shucked off his black jeans and green sweater. He pulled down his boxers and shivered as the cool California air hit his cock. He sighed and dropped back against the couch in the room. He didn't particularly care enough to remember to lock the door.  
  
As this was a green room, there wasn't any lube so he spit in his hand and began stroking himself. He found a steady rhythm that, if knowledgeable about his onstage antics, one would notice matched the rhythm at which he bounced and bopped around in his little area of the stage. He watched his hand and the way the veins and tendons moved with each stroke. He tightened his grip after a few minutes of being mesmerized by the flow of his hand over himself. He was nearing his climax. He quickened his pace and let out increasingly loud exhales on the downstroke. His lips permanently parted. He became lost to his surroundings as he became engulfed in the pleasure his finely muscled hands brought him.  
  
He felt the vein on the underside of his thick shaft pulse and his hand faltered as he knew he was about to come. With three more firm strokes he spilled what had been brewing all show long into his hand and a little bit caught on his shirt.  
  
He let out one long exhale and brought his hand up to inspect his come. It glistened in the harsh light of the green room. He licked one of his fingers clean of the stickiness and draped his wrist over the armrest of the couch. There were no tissues in reach so he would have to wash his hands soon before the come dried down completely but for now he was content to bask in his post-orgasm bliss. He had played a great first set, he was entitled to his break. Before long, he knew he would have to revive and find the fire he had just blown into his hand for the second set but the second set was usually mellower and he still had ten minutes before he had to appear in the wings. The come had dried to his shirt so trying to get it out right then was a lost cause so he would have to swap it for another white shirt he had with him and put his sweater back on. No one would be able to tell.  
  
After another five minutes of basking in his bliss, he coaxed himself off the couch and rambled on to the attached bathroom to clean off his hand. The come had dried a little but was not too difficult to scrub off. He had started to sweat while jacking off and he was only now cooling down enough for it to not be noticeable. His bandmates would be able to tell he was up to stuff when he re-emerged if he was still sweaty after their break.  
  
He splashed some water on his face, swapped his shirt and redressed. He had heard the five minute call. He fixed his hair in the mirror, grabbed his guitar, and went out into the hall. There was a stagehand outside his door looking very embarrassed. Woops. She must have needed something from him earlier and walked in then noped right back out. He gave her a smirk and continued down the hall to where they were meeting up to confirm the second set list.  
  
He grabbed a snack from the table and a water bottle as the band conferenced. They were ready for part two of the show. They geared up, made sure everything was in order and broke into Estimated Prophet. For the rest of the show, he wore a slight smirk as he bounced along to his own drum and felt himself a little less than he did the first set.  
  
Only those in the first few rows noticed that his ego seemed to decrease. But John most definitely had a dick that reached the first three rows.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave me a comment about any grammar errors and blah blah blah. I pulled this straight out my ass.


End file.
